


A Moving Sea

by eirenical (chibi1723)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Character, Asexual Courfeyrac, Blindfolds, Friendship/Love, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Massage, Mildly Dubious Consent, Misunderstandings, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 01:04:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1246906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi1723/pseuds/eirenical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac's pulse quickened at Combeferre's suggestion, at the hint of naughtiness playing around the edges of his smile, the glint of mischief in his eyes.  That smile had gotten him into more trouble than Courfeyrac could easily remember... and it was about to get him into even more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Moving Sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [defractum (nyargles)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyargles/gifts).



> **_February 27, 2014:_** A little under a week ago, I reblogged a writing meme on tumblr, asking people to submit gifs or pictures from which I would write a story. [defractum](http://defractum.tumblr.com) submitted [this lovely gif](https://24.media.tumblr.com/36beea3b391284fd0d6b993dd318a377/tumblr_n1c8ftcNTx1rmdfnro1_400.gif). This story was supposed to be a little snippety thing -- a few hundred words at most. Problem was... I immediately got distracted by work and more work and ended up with several days for that lovely gif to prey upon my mind and breed fic. And it went and turned into a real thing on me. Whoops. ^_^ ANYWAY, the third party of the threesome is a spoiler, but if you'd really like to know who it is before you read, hop on down to the author's notes. Enjoy? ^_^
> 
> [tumblr post](http://eirenical.tumblr.com/post/78070938174/a-moving-sea-a-combeferre-x-courfeyrac).

  
_“Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.”_  
― Kahlil Gibran, Love Letters in the Sand: The Love Poems of Khalil Gibran

~ _I saw you._ ~

The words were hissed quietly into Courfeyrac's ear, the violent shock of sibilant sound equaled only by the shock of what it meant. Courfeyrac froze, unable to respond, as he racked his brain for what Enjolras could possibly have seen him do that would cause his voice to drip with such utter betrayal. That silence condemned him before he even had time to turn and shoot back, 'What the hell are you talking about?'

Enjolras answered him with a disappointed frown. He then walked away without saying another word -- the first time in their long friendship that Courfeyrac could ever remember him doing so. He was in a quiet panic for the rest of the day, trying to figure out what misdeed he could possibly be being punished for. He came up with nothing.

Later that night at the meeting, mind still a blank panicking mess, Courfeyrac nearly ran from Enjolras when he approached. Only Combeferre's darkly scowling look – aimed one hundred percent at Enjolras -- and the light blush on Enjolras' cheeks kept him in his seat. Enjolras gave him only four words in explanation -- 'I'm sorry. I misunderstood.' -- before walking away to start the meeting. That was the last he said on the matter. He never explained and neither did Combeferre. The subject was simply… dropped.

Until yesterday…

* * *

Courfeyrac was preparing dinner, music cranked up for background noise, and pondering the coming weekend. Combeferre was off of work for two glorious days and wasn't on call either night. That was a world of luxury in potential compared to how little time they’d had to spend together, lately. Courfeyrac tried not to dwell on it – he’d known what he was getting into when he and Combeferre had moved in together at the start of his residency – but sometimes... sometimes he felt a bit neglected. Between Combeferre’s residency and Enjolras’ political aspirations, it seemed like all they ever did together anymore was work. But, that was not to be their fate this weekend! Courfeyrac would see to that. Two entire days… just imagine what they could do! First there was that new moth exhibit at the Museum of Natural History that Combeferre had been wistfully eying. They could start there. Then, buttered up appropriately from that indulgence, Combeferre might consent to join him on the rush line for Shakespeare in the park the next day. With both of them waiting for tickets, they could pick one up for Enjolras, too. It would be just the three of them, enjoying a show... just like old times.

Normally, Combeferre considered that much idle time to be wasted time and would get edgy by the time eight o'clock rolled around, making him less than pleasant company. So, Courfeyrac usually conned Jehan or Grantaire into joining him, instead, but both had proved elusive thus far, busy with other pursuits this year. And really… Courfeyrac could think of nothing that he would enjoy more than hauling the air mattress and Combeferre down to Central Park in the pre-dawn light and snuggling together for warmth until the sun made its presence felt, with no pressing need to be anywhere or do anything other than enjoy each other's company. So intent was he on that image, that Courfeyrac didn't even hear the door open, nor did he notice that he had company in the apartment until Combeferre slid his arms around his waist from behind.

Courfeyrac let out an undignified squeak and nearly dropped the frying pan he'd been spooning onions out of. But, Combeferre was all soothing apologies, gentle kisses, and soft caresses, and Courfeyrac forgave him even before he'd registered a right to be angry at the disruption. Combeferre slid his hands up Courfeyrac's arms to begin massaging the tension from his shoulders and neck, murmuring words of praise and admiration, then running his hands up further still to sift through his hair and scratch gently at his scalp. It didn't even occur to Courfeyrac that that was Combeferre's way of buttering _him_ up -- not until Courfeyrac had melted against him and Combeferre leaned down to whisper his desires into Courfeyrac's waiting ear. 

Courfeyrac's pulse quickened at Combeferre's suggestion, at the hint of naughtiness playing around the edges of his smile, the glint of mischief in his eyes. That smile had gotten him into more trouble than Courfeyrac could easily remember. That smile was what had led to their first rushed and heated kisses (in the coat closet of Courfeyrac's family home when his parents had been in the next room). That smile was what had led to Courfeyrac's third attempt at a blowjob (in the bathroom of a restaurant while Enjolras was waiting at the table). That smile was what had led to a frenzied coupling in the back alley by the Corinthe after a meeting a month ago (Courfeyrac's jeans bunched uncomfortably up his thighs and his knees jackknifed up to his shoulders and the brick of the wall scraping harshly against his back as Combeferre rocked up into him).

Combeferre had an exhibitionist streak a mile wide and that smile was pure trouble.

…not that any of their friends would have believed it if Courfeyrac had tried to tell them.

Shaking his head ruefully as he put the frying pan down, Courfeyrac turned to face Combeferre and said simply, "You really want this?" When Combeferre shivered, eyes closing as Courfeyrac's were wont to do when tasting a rich chocolate mousse, Courfeyrac knew he was lost. He wouldn't ask why -- it didn't really matter and he had faith that Combeferre would tell him later if it did -- all he needed to know was that this was something Combeferre truly wanted. If so, Courfeyrac would do his best to fulfull it. Plus, Courfeyrac admitted to himself later, he was curious. This was naughty in an entirely different way than Combeferre's penchant for finding borderline public places to engage in sexual dalliances… and Courfeyrac was intrigued, if still a little uncertain.

Attentive to Courfeyrac's needs and uncertainties in ways that no other lover Courfeyrac had had before had ever been, after dinner Combeferre suggested nothing more adventurous than curling up on the couch. He wrapped one arm around him, all smiles and reassurance, as they argued good-naturedly over whose Netflix queue to browse. They compromised on a marathon of Scrubs -- a show Courfeyrac enjoyed because of the convoluted and codependent friendship between J.D. and Turk and which Combeferre enjoyed because it allowed him to view the life or death reality of his medical residency through the lens of humor.

No more was said about Combeferre's proposition. 

* * *

Courfeyrac had thought the matter tabled for later contemplation, had thought enactment of this new kink would take months or, at the very least, weeks for Combeferre to arrange. He hadn't counted on the fact that Combeferre would already have things set in place on the chance that Courfeyrac would say yes. He hadn't counted on the fact that Combeferre had been dwelling on this for so long that he would grab the first available opportunity to make it reality. And what better opportunity than the first weekend he’d had completely clear in months?

Earlier that day Combeferre had arrived home with that wicked smile already firmly in place and his eyes sparkling behind wire-rimmed glasses. He'd held up a black silk scarf and when Courfeyrac's breath caught, eyes widening at the immediacy of what it represented, that smile had bloomed wider still. The words, “Wait, I’m not ready for this!” had jumped to his tongue, ready to be spoken, but he’d bitten them back. This day, another day, another month... would he ever really be ready? He just wasn’t sure. So, he’d pushed past that initial reaction and simply held out a hand. Combeferre had passed over the scarf and whispered instructions into Courfeyrac's ear…

…and that was how Courfeyrac had found himself here, sitting naked on the edge of their bed, hands clutched lightly on the coverlet and the scarf tied securely over his eyes so that he could make out no more than vague shadows in the dim light. With his vision stripped away, he found himself reacting to every unexpected sound -- the rattle in the pipes as their upstairs neighbor turned on the shower, the soft wsssh-kssssh of the air conditioning kicking on, the creak of the floorboards as Combeferre moved about in the living room, the click of the lock as he opened the front door… the soft murmur of indistinct voices as he ushered someone inside.

Courfeyrac's breathing sped up. This had been their agreement -- to introduce a third party into their love-making, just for one night, just to see what it would be like. He would be someone of Combeferre's choosing and Courfeyrac was not to know who it was. Intriguing in contemplation, Courfeyrac had to admit that the reality was more than a little overwhelming at the moment. Part of him still wasn't sure how he'd allowed Combeferre to talk him into it in the first place. Sex with Combeferre was sometimes a daunting enough prospect all on its own and one he engaged in mainly for Combeferre's benefit. Sex with Combeferre and a perfect stranger at the same time…? Why had he thought this was a good idea? Combeferre was persuasive as hell when he wanted to be. That was why.

Last night, in between episodes of Scrubs, Combeferre had finally explained why he wanted this so badly. It apparently had its roots in Enjolras' strange behavior of that long ago day. Enjolras had seen them in the alley behind the Corinthe -- or more accurately, he'd seen Courfeyrac. Combeferre had been facing away from him and thus his identity had been kept hidden. And because his partner was not readily identifiable, and Enjolras couldn't imagine Combeferre engaging in such acts of vulgar public indecency, Enjolras had jumped to the conclusion that said partner was not Combeferre -- that Courfeyrac had cheated on him. And it was all too easy to see why he imagined that Courfeyrac was capable of doing so. Courfeyrac had never made a secret of how free he was with his affection, with his body -- always reaching out, touching, embracing, kissing, ever tactile, even with casual acquaintances, even with those he'd just met. So it was reasonable to think that he would take it farther than that, wasn't it? It was a logical assumption, Courfeyrac knew, though he'd been hurt at the thought that Enjolras had thought him capable of any kind of betrayal, especially one such as that.

Combeferre had reassured him immediately, knowing Courfeyrac's proclivities in such matters far better than Enjolras did. He would believe cheating of nearly any of their other friends before he would believe it of Courfeyrac, he had said. Courfeyrac simply didn't have it in him to commit an act which would cause a friend pain -- much less the man he loved above all others. However, Combeferre had admitted, the thought of Courfeyrac dallying with someone else had lit a spark of curiosity in his mind. The thought of watching Courfeyrac with someone else, knowing that Courfeyrac was allowing such a display purely for Combeferre's pleasure… he liked it. He hadn't been able to stop thinking of it -- of being the one to guide the festivities, being the one to give the instructions, knowing exactly what to tell another man to touch and to do and to kiss to drive Courfeyrac insane, knowing that it was really Combeferre Courfeyrac would be thinking of…

Combeferre had painted a masterful picture last night and Courfeyrac had been swayed by it before even fully thinking it through. He knew that Combeferre would never put him in danger. Combeferre had his absolute trust in that regard. Courfeyrac knew that the moment he became uncomfortable, Combeferre would put a halt to the game. Still… he really hadn't expected Combeferre to move on his agreement so quickly. He had thought he'd have more time to mentally prepare. And now that the moment was upon them, Courfeyrac felt a thrill of delayed uncertainty and shivered with it. Moments later, he shivered again as the temperature in the room slowly lowered, his nipples tightening into hardened nubs as the chilled air blowing from the vents overhead caressed him.

Time seemed to draw out, then, seconds feeling like minutes and minutes like hours. Courfeyrac hadn't realized until then how dependent he was on his sight to help judge the passing of time. Along with that odd elongation, his other senses began to feel heightened, not just his hearing. The stitching on the coverlet under his bare thighs produced an itch made all the more maddening by Courfeyrac's promise to Combeferre that he would not touch himself. He wasn't sure that scratching counted, but he was doing this for Combeferre, as a gift, and the last thing he wanted to do was sully that gift because he couldn't follow a simple rule.

Smell was the next sense to tease at him -- the smell of Combeferre's favorite tea and a sunburst of citrus which could only have been the spray of lemon he preferred to take it with. Unlike the teasing of his other senses, however, this one grounded him, bringing with it thoughts of long nights spent curled around each other on the couch, of afternoons sprawled on the floor studying… of home. Courfeyrac inhaled deeply of it, smiled… and finally managed to settle, zoning out to the smell of Combeferre.

* * *

Some time later, though Courfeyrac had no idea how _much_ time later, the creak of the floorboards in the hall jolted him out of his peaceful state. He strained his hearing to see if he could make out any sounds which would help identify their guest. He'd promised not to look -- he'd said nothing about listening or smelling or feeling. He picked out two sets of footsteps -- still shod by the clump of rubber soles against the wood -- and the soft shush of fabric, but nothing else. All that revealed was that Combeferre and their guest were still fully clothed. For some reason, that fact made Courfeyrac feel more vulnerable than any other thing which had happened thus far. At the twinned soft gasps he heard when the door to the bedroom opened, Courfeyrac fought a sudden desire to cover himself, but the soft murmur of Combeferre's voice giving instructions to their guest was just enough reassurance that he was able to calm himself. Still… he was too jittery by far.

As if in answer to Courfeyrac's uneasiness, the reassuring sound of Combeferre's voice soon filled his ear with praises and attestations of his beauty and good behavior. Courfeyrac smiled under the praise, tilted his head to butt against Combeferre's hip. Combeferre laughed softly and ran a hand through Courfeyrac's hair, scratching gently at his scalp and causing him to shiver for an entirely different reason. Now that he had Courfeyrac's attention, Combeferre sat down beside him on the bed, one hand resting lightly between his shoulder blades. He said, "Do you still want to do this? You can change your mind. No hard feelings."

Courfeyrac shook his head. No, he didn't want to change his mind -- not just for Combeferre's sake, but his own. If he backed down now, his own infernal curiosity wouldn't let him rest until he convinced Combeferre to try it again. And this… it was stupid, really, but Courfeyrac gave so much of his affection freely to others, gave so much of him _self_ , that now and again he wondered what it would be like to allow himself to be just a little bit selfish, to demand something in return. And this… he smiled. To have not one but _two_ people focused solely on pleasing him? That was such an exquisite level of selfishness that he'd never have dared ask for it on his own. He wasn't going to turn it down, and Combeferre well knew that.

Combeferre's thumb moved along Courfeyrac's back, gently stroking down the center as he said, "Good. I'm glad. But, remember, you can change your mind at _any_ point, Courfeyrac. This isn't a catch-all permission that you're giving now. If you change your mind, if you want to stop, you just say the word." When Courfeyrac only nodded in response, Combeferre chuckled and whispered into his ear, "You're being unusually quiet. To be honest, it's disturbing me a bit. Why don't you give that word a spin now for practice and to reassure me that you're still in there?"

That moment of cajoling good humor was all it took to break the remaining tension Courfeyrac was feeling. Yes, this was different. Yes, it was a little strange to him, still, but Combeferre was still Combeferre. This wasn't going to change anything between them. Turning to press a kiss to where he thought Combeferre's lips were -- though it turned out to be where his chin was -- Courfeyrac said softly but distinctly, "Shakespeare."

Combeferre's hand moved from between Courfeyrac's shoulder blades, then, to cover his mouth as he let out a rather undignified squawk of laughter. When he next spoke, the words were directed away from Courfeyrac and full of good humor. "I have a feeling I know what we're doing the next weekend I have free." His next words were accompanied by a brief kiss to Courfeyrac's cheek. "Good enough, love. Don't forget it."

He stood, then, and Courfeyrac felt suddenly bereft as that warmth left his side, a bolt of panic flashing along his nerves before he forced himself to note that the door hadn't opened. Combeferre was still in the room. It was OK. Moments later, he heard the scrape of something heavy being dragged across the carpet. Ah. Combeferre must have moved the armchair closer to make for a better vantage point. The thought made Courfeyrac flush and he squirmed for a moment -- though from discomfort or arousal, even he couldn't say for sure.

After a briefly spoken whisper to their guest, of which Courfeyrac could make out no words, a hand threaded itself into his hair and scratched gently at his scalp, just as Combeferre liked to do when he was feeling affectionate. Courfeyrac leaned into it without giving it any thought. As he relaxed, that hand traveled lower, kneaded at the base of his head where it joined the top of his neck, and Courfeyrac let out an involuntary moan at the gentle massage. At that encouragement, a second hand joined in the massage and the pair worked their way down his neck and to his shoulders. Courfeyrac all but melted. Whoever Combeferre had brought home had talented hands.

Those hands tugged gently at Courfeyrac's shoulders, encouraged him to shift further back onto the bed and roll face down. Courfeyrac went eagerly, already aware of other knots in his back making their presence felt now that their kindly guest had worked the ones out of his neck and shoulders.

Their guest did not disappoint. Letting his hands -- soft, but strong -- travel down from Courfeyrac's shoulders, he began working some of those other knots out of Courfeyrac's back, letting out soft puffs of laughter whenever Courfeyrac made a particularly dramatic noise of approval at his actions. When he'd reached the middle of Courfeyrac's back and was just beginning to tackle the two knots just above the base of his spine, Combeferre interrupted the proceedings. Courfeyrac let out a whine at the loss of his personal masseuse -- and really, if he'd had any idea that this was what Combeferre had intended, he'd have agreed with _much_ less hesitation -- but Combeferre set him at ease with a laugh. "Relax, love. You'll have him back in a minute."

Combeferre was as good as his word and when their guest returned to Courfeyrac's side, he crawled up onto the bed and straddled Courfeyrac's thighs -- an action which made it quite clear that he was as unclothed as Courfeyrac. And at that soft brush of flesh against the crease of his thighs, Courfeyrac tensed all over again. Combeferre spoke his reassurances from the chair, but when a brief "snap" with which Courfeyrac was all too familiar sounded from just over his shoulder, he couldn't help the jerk he made when he heard it. Oil. Combeferre had given him their bottle of oil.

For just a moment, Courfeyrac considered shouting out the ridiculous safeword he'd picked out and putting a halt to the entire business. But before he could open his mouth to do it, their guest had bent over, keeping his hips well above Courfeyrac's legs this time, and pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder. Soft waves of hair spilled down around the spot where he planted that kiss and a word, barely a whisper of sound said, "Sorry."

Combeferre spoke up at that and said, "I thought I told you not to speak." The frown was clear in Combeferre's voice and Courfeyrac was only glad it wasn't directed at him. More hair tumbled onto Courfeyrac's shoulder as their guest's head turned to the side, shifted in ticklish shivers against Courfeyrac's skin as their guest nodded his head. By then, Courfeyrac had relaxed again, and their guest was ready to show him to what use he was going to put the oil.

…to aid in his massage. Courfeyrac let out an embarrassed laugh at that and dragged a pillow under him to better bury his face in it. Their guest took his time the second time around, working over his back and his arms and down his legs. By the time he was finished, Courfeyrac was a puddle of barely conscious schmoop. So, when a gentle pair of hands wrapped around his left knee and pulled it to the side and then upwards, he barely even registered the motion, much less its significance.

Those hands returned then, only somehow they'd multiplied. There were hands massaging his shoulders and other hands on his upper thighs. Then there were hands in the hollows of his hips and others kneading the muscles of his ass. He barely even felt it as one slick finger slid into the cleft to tease at his entrance. So long as those other hands kept up their gently massaging caresses, the fourth could do whatever it damned well pleased. Courfeyrac felt too good to care. Moments later, that one questing finger stopped its teasing and slid inside. When it crooked immediately towards his prostate, hitting it with almost terrifying accuracy, Courfeyrac decided it must be Combeferre's and let out a choked cry, pushing back against it. A second finger soon joined the first, alternately pressing inside him and stretching his entrance. The other three hands kept up their work, sliding over his shoulders, sweeping down his sides and teasing up his inner thighs to brush against his cock. It was maddening and wonderful and Courfeyrac never wanted it to stop.

Just when he was about to shout out his safeword just so he could yell at someone to move it along and stop teasing already, a third finger slid inside him to join the other two in angling directly for his prostate, and he gasped. Shortly thereafter, two of the hands lifted off of him and Courfeyrac made a soft sound of complaint. Combeferre laughed at that and said, "Patience." And that word was soon followed by the sound of cloth-on-cloth as he got undressed.

But… but… those fingers… the ones he'd been sure belonged to Combeferre…? They surged forwards again, pressing hard against his prostate and massaging it in time with the hand which had slid around and underneath him to massage his abdomen. Courfeyrac cried out then, tried to fight off the heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach which he recognized as an orgasm building, because even as far gone as he was, he didn't want to reach that point without Combeferre.

Fortunately for him, Combeferre wasn't gone long. When he returned, he gripped Courfeyrac's hips to guide him up onto his hands and knees, then moved slowly around in front of him, always sure to keep contact with Courfeyrac as he moved. His hands ghosted along Courfeyrac’s sides, shoulders and chest finally slid up to cup his face and he settled onto the bed in front of him. Still their guest's fingers were merciless, pulling out just to stab back in with unerring precision. Courfeyrac gasped out a question as Combeferre’s chest slid against his. In answer, he tucked Courfeyrac’s head beneath his chin, shifting the angle enough that he cried out, again, and whispered into his ear, "I told you last night -- he is simply my instrument. Everyone touching you right now… is me. Only me." The fingers moving inside him gave a very particular twist then -- yet another move reminiscent of Combeferre -- and Courfeyrac bucked back against them, began incoherently begging for more.

…and that accomplished exactly the opposite of what he wanted. Their guest pulled his fingers free, his other hand ceased making those soothing circles around his stomach. Before Courfeyrac could protest, however, their guest pressed against his back, reached past him to clutch at Combeferre's arm and whimper out a soft, "Now?" And there was something about the feel of that body pressed to his and there was something about the tone of that voice… a cascade of observations suddenly crystallized into certainty. Those soft hands hiding impossible strength, the way he and Combeferre moved and acted virtually as one with little or no direction necessary, the brush of soft curls against his shoulder…

Courfeyrac shuddered from his place in between them and let out a soft sob, because of _course_. Of course. He'd never even dared dream, but Combeferre -- _clever_ Combeferre -- of course he would have known. "Oh G-d… Oh _G-d_. _Enjolras_." And that last was a long, drawn-out moan.

As though he'd passed some sort of test with that realization, the belly pressed to his back fluttered against him in a choked off laugh. Enjolras pressed his face between Courfeyrac's shoulder blades and between chuckles, said, "I told you he'd figure it out, Combeferre."

Combeferre's chest lifted and fell in a deep sigh. "So you did." Tilting Courfeyrac’s head up just enough to press a chaste kiss to his lips, Combeferre asked, "So, is that an end to it then?"

In answer, Courfeyrac nuzzled into the stubble peppering Combeferre's cheeks, then opened his mouth against Combeferre's lips, teasing lightly at the seam with his tongue. Combeferre groaned as he returned that kiss, thrusting his tongue deep into Courfeyrac's mouth and licking along his palate before letting their tongues meet again. Reaching up, he pulled Enjolras' hand from his arm and redirected it to Courfeyrac's hip. Courfeyrac smiled into the kiss as he felt the waft of air from what had to be Combeferre making a wind milling motion with his hand to indicate Enjolras should get a move on.

In answer, Enjolras dipped down to press another kiss to Courfeyrac's back and slid his fingers back inside. After just a few teasing thrusts and twists to reclaim his rhythm, he pulled them back out again. Moments later, Courfeyrac heard the telltale sound of a foil packet ripping and lunged forward to nip at Combeferre's mouth. Combeferre pulled him close and plunged his tongue back between his lips… _just_ as Enjolras lined himself up and pushed inside.

Courfeyrac broke his kiss with Combeferre as he gasped for air, but the onslaught continued unchecked. Combeferre pressed forward, sliding his knee between Courfeyrac's spread legs until it pressed against Courfeyrac's almost painfully hard cock, his own pressing just as firmly into Courfeyrac's thigh. When they pressed against each other the second time, that was one sensation more than Courfeyrac could handle and he came hard between their bodies, sparks igniting behind the black silk of the blindfold. After two more thrusts, Combeferre came, as well, and they collapsed down to the bed, Courfeyrac sprawled atop Combeferre. The sudden drop wrenched Enjolras from them and he let out a broken cry. Combeferre fought his own lethargy long enough to manhandle Courfeyrac around so that his back was pressed to Combeferre's chest, and then reached down to grab the backs of his knees and pull his legs up and apart.

Enjolras quickly fitted himself into place, ready to slide back inside… when he paused. He didn't even ask the question, merely made a pleading noise, barely a whimper. Combeferre must have nodded, because the next Courfeyrac knew, Enjolras was reaching forward to pull off his blindfold. Light and color flooded Courfeyrac's eyes and they watered from the overwhelming return of a sense he'd been deprived of all evening. Enjolras leaned in close, his hair falling like a curtain around them, sealing off the light of the sole bedside lamp, and slid back inside. It didn't take long. His rhythm began falling apart almost immediately, and he only sparked against Courfeyrac's prostate every now and again, but still it was enough to set Courfeyrac's entire body shuddering in Combeferre's arms.

Another minute more had Enjolras finding his own release and collapsing atop them both. Courfeyrac grunted as he ended up squished between them, but he made no complaint. He simply wrapped his arms -- and his legs, once Combeferre released them -- around Enjolras and pulled him close. Combeferre pressed a satisfied smile into the crook of his neck and asked, "Happy?"

Courfeyrac turned and kissed him, whispered back, "Beyond the dreams of avarice. You?"

Combeferre smiled. "Yes. You… thank you. I don't know what I did to deserve you, but dear G-d, I hope I'm worthy of it."

Letting out a soft laugh and causing Enjolras to grumble at them both for the jostling, Courfeyrac said, "You do all right."

As Combeferre and Courfeyrac shared a smugly satisfied grin, Enjolras snuggled closer and pressed his face into Courfeyrac's chest. Taking that as a hint, they wiggled themselves up the bed and under the covers, and it took more maneuvering and tidying up than their tired bodies were quite ready for. Once they were settled -- Courfeyrac in the middle, Enjolras snuggled up to his chest, and Combeferre pressed against his back -- Courfeyrac mumbled, “That’s it. I’m not moving until Tuesday. You can figure out the details of how you’re going to work around that later.” Combeferre let out a small sound which might have been a laugh or might have been a protest, but which Courfeyrac recognized as Combeferre swiftly succumbing to slumber.

Some time later, as Courfeyrac was nearly ready to drop off himself, Enjolras shifted in his arms. Tilting his face upwards, Enjolras caught Courfeyrac's eyes in the near dark and said, "I really am sorry. I can't believe I misjudged you that badly."

It took Courfeyrac a moment to understand what Enjolras meant and when he did, he stiffened momentarily before relaxing. Pressing a soft kiss to Enjolras' forehead, he said, "Forgiven, forgotten, Enjolras. It's OK."

Enjolras shook his head, said urgently, "No. No, it isn't. I… until tonight, I still had my doubts, but now... My G-d, Courfeyrac. I can't believe I never realized…" He stopped, took a deep breath. "Combeferre explained that you don't… this isn't something you do. But this… how can you trust each other so completely? How can you trust _him_ so much that you'd agree to this when you don't even want _him_ most of the time?"

Courfeyrac pulled Enjolras back against him and shrugged. "I love him. He loves me. It's really as simple as that." When Enjolras drew in a breath to speak, Courfeyrac shushed him with a brief kiss. "Enjolras… is there any doubt in your mind that I enjoyed tonight?" Laughing softly at the speed with which Enjolras shook his head, Courfeyrac said, "Then don't overanalyze it."'

"But--"

"No 'but's, Enjolras. Would I have sought out this kind of relationship if it hadn't fallen into my lap? Probably not. Would I miss it if we never had sex again? Probably not. But am I sorry that sex is part of what we do? No. I'm definitely not. It makes Combeferre happy and it brings us closer together. And _this_ … tonight… my G-d, Enjolras, if you had any idea how long I've dreamed of having the two of you focused purely on me to the exclusion of all other distractions… you'd laugh. You really would." Courfeyrac pulled Enjolras close, again, pressed another kiss against his lips.

Enjolras was silent for a few minutes after that, but Courfeyrac could practically hear the wheels of his mind turning as they lay entwined. Finally Enjolras said, "…we do neglect you sometimes, don't we?"

Before Courfeyrac could answer, Combeferre did it for him, sleep making him more blunt than he might otherwise be. "Enjolras, don't bother. He'll just claim we don't."

Courfeyrac turned his head to scowl at Combeferre. "But, you _don_ \--mmph!"

Enjolras let out a soft laugh as Combeferre kissed Courfeyrac quiet and placed a kiss of his own at the base of Courfeyrac's neck. Tightening his hold on Courfeyrac in a brief hug, he said, "I see what you mean."

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes good-naturedly at them before finally admitting, "OK, OK. Fine. You both work a lot. That's true. And when the three of us are together, it's often to do work for meetings these days. That's true, too. And maybe I do get irritating by trying to pull your focus away from those things, but I _worry_ about you both. Now, _you_ admit it -- you'd both work yourselves into the ground on a regular basis if it weren't for me!"

Enjolras and Combeferre's gazes met for a moment over Courfeyrac's head, a moment of perfect understanding passing between them. In unison, they tightened their hold on Courfeyrac, pressing as close to him as bodies allowed.

Combeferre leaned down to whisper in his ear, "You are loved."

Enjolras leaned up to whisper in his other ear, "And appreciated. So much."

Courfeyrac's breath caught and a single tear dripped from his eye, rolling down his cheek to meet the beaming grin now claiming his lips. "I love you guys, too. I don't know what I did to deserve you, either, but I hope I'm worthy of it."

Combeferre pressed a kiss into the nape of Courfeyrac’s neck and Courfeyrac could feel his smile in that kiss. Softly, Combeferre said, “You do all right, yourself -- more than all right. I wouldn’t change you for the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:**
> 
> And here we get to it. First off, for those of you who are here to check the threesome... it's a Golden Trio: Combeferre/Courfeyrac/Enjolras. I know I often like to know what I'm reading before I get into it and I imagine others do, too, but since Courfeyrac doesn't know it's Enjolras until partway through, I didn't want to list it in the tags.
> 
> Another thing I believe requires a bit of explanation... For those of you who don't live in or near NYC, Shakespeare in the Park is an amazing production of shows put on by the Public Theatre every summer. It is usually two shows (often a play and a musical, but not always), and at least one of those two shows is a Shakespeare play. The truly unique thing about SitP, however, is that it is held at an open-air theatre (the Delacorte) in the middle of Central Park... AND IT IS COMPLETELY FREE. You get tickets by showing up (often VERY early in the morning) to wait on a rush line in Central Park until 1 PM when they hand out tickets. It's kind of like tail-gating, but in a gorgeous park and with theatre people. ^_^ It seemed like something Courfeyrac would want to do if he lived in NY.
> 
> Last, but NEVER, EVER LEAST -- a huge thank you to my amazing beta-reader, doeskin-pantaloons, without whom you'd all have to suffer through my endless failures to catch run-on sentences before they, well... run on. ^_~ Any and all remaining mistakes, however, are purely mine.


End file.
